


The Clown Palace of Crime

by Stiddle_Ficks



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Comic, F/M, Flowers, Home, Murder, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stiddle_Ficks/pseuds/Stiddle_Ficks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long night of work, a man just wants to get home and relax. But what happens when the man is The Joker, and his night of work consists of being thwarted by The Batman once again? How do you deal with coming home to a shabby hideout when your children are an army of nameless goons and your wife is the one and only Harley Quinn?<br/>Are you actually trying to answer these questions? Just open up and read, ya twit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clown Palace of Crime

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick, domestic Joker/Harley scene that's been floating in my head for a few days. Hope you enjoy,
> 
> *If you read this and have suggestions for tags I'd be insanely grateful.

“‘You’re washed up,’ he says.” The Joker muttered to himself, the muscles in his face  
disagreeing with the smile painted on his mouth. “The nerve of that guy. One-liners are my thing,  
everyone knows that.”

He arrived, soaking wet from head to toe, at his current base of operations: an abandoned  
warehouse in Gotham’s industrial district. The present clown palace of crime. He ran his fingers  
through the green shock of hair on the top of his head and gazed at the broken windows, the graffiti  
covered walls, and the shingles hanging from the roof. “This is The Clown Prince’s castle?” Joker said.  
“Oh well, at least it’s better than when we held court in the sewers,” he looked down at his sopping  
purple suit. “Kind of.... Buck up old boy! You never minded sleeping in shanties. You’re just letting the  
bat get your britches in a bunch. Just got to get back to the drawing board... again.”

Dozens of musclebound clown cronies craned their necks towards the dented steel door as it slid  
upward to allow their leader to enter.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bats got one over on us again.” Joker said. “Now, I’m going into my office,  
and if I hear so much as a peep out of any of you, you’ll have the honor of replacing the head in the  
jack in the box, understood?”

“Understood, boss. You won’t hear a single––”

BLAM!

“Anybody else? Because the bobblehead’s going to need replacing pretty soon here as well.” the  
lackeys stayed stone silent. “Good. Now, someone get his head on a spring and feed the rest to Bud and  
Lou.”

The Clown Prince ascended the steps towards his chamber, for what he intended to be a quiet  
night of peering over and refurbishing his plans to finally foil The Dark Knight.

“Hiya, Puddin’!” his clown princess, Harley Quinn, had other things in mind. As he entered the  
room she was sprawled across his desk, holding a plastic tray that was covered by a matching lid..  
Harley was a very stunning young woman, with the body of a gymnast and the face of a movie  
star from days that have long since passed. She was wearing her usual pale white makeup with black  
shadow around her eyes, red lipstick, and the neck to toe red and black leather harlequin costume. Over  
this she wore a rather skimpy French maid’s outfit, complete with a bonnet sitting atop her pointy eared  
jester’s hat.

But The Joker was only as aware of her attempts to seduce him as he was annoyed by them. As  
lovely as Harley was, his mind was full to bursting with thoughts of The Batman. There was no room  
for other anyone else.

“Listen, cupcake,” Joker said. “daddy had a hard night and now he just wants to relax and go  
over his papers.”

“Yeah, I saw Bats drop you off the Sprang Bridge when Bane went crashing through R.H. Kane  
building. Rough stuff, Mr. J.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I thought you might want to go over your papers, so I decided to  
meet you here. And look, I made your favorite–” she lifted the lid off the tray. “–decapitated chocolate  
chip batcakes!” Sure enough, there were four bat shaped pancakes with their heads cut off strewn  
across the plastic platter. Strawberry syrup was placed strategically to give the effect that the battered  
bats were bleeding from their neck holes.

“Stupendous, snookums,” Joker said, picking up one of the bat heads. “now, if you could go  
ahead and skedaddle I can get to my– ow!” he spat out three small rocks onto the tray.  
“HAHAHA!” Harley laughed, kicking her feet wildly in the air. “Oh, gravel in the pancakes.  
Classic!”

“Why would you do that, you stupid henchwench?” The Joker shouted. “I could have broke a  
tooth! The smile is kind of my trademark, and in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t too many  
insurance agencies that specialize in crazy clown coverage.”

“I’m sorry, boss,” Harley’s voice shook. “I was just trying to cheer you up, and I know how you  
like your pranks.”

“If that were true then you would know that the way I ‘like my pranks’ is performed by me.” he  
grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her off of the desk, along with a dozen or so half drawn out  
schemes and diagrams. “Now pick those up and leave me to my knitting. And no more half baked gags  
by amateurs, got it?”

The Clown Prince pulled out his chair, ready to lose himself in his art.

“Wait!” Harley shouted. “I wouldn’t sit in that chair if I were you, boss!”

“Oh, no? And where would you sit instead, the floor?” The moment he put butt to seat, the chair  
collapsed and brought him toppling down to the floor. “I had to ask...”

“Sorry, boss.” Harley said, frantically grabbing at the papers about the floor. “that wasn’t a new  
half baked gag, it was the second part of the first half baked gag.”

“Lovely.” Joker responded, his tone marked with a hint of frustration. “please tell me that that  
was the end of the entertainment for the evening.”

“Yes sir, Mistah J. No more entertainment for the rest of the night.”

“Are you absolutely positive?”

“Scouts honor! Here, let’s shake on it.”

Harley grabbed The Joker by the hand and squeezed tightly. The buzzer in her hand sent twenty  
thousand volts of electricity rushing through his body, the fact that he was still dripping wet didn’t do  
much to help the situation. He dropped like a soggy sack of potatoes.

“Ha! Fooled you again, puddin’. I was never in the scouts.”

“Good one.” he choked, his green hair now standing up on end. “Help me up, will you?”

Harley pulled The Joker up by the arm and placed his hands on top of the desk to help him  
regain his balance.

“You know, cupcake,” Joker said. “I don’t think I do enough to show you how much I  
appreciate you.”

Joker took hold of the top desk drawer handle and opened it about an inch before pausing to  
assess the situation. He leaned as far back as he could before opening it the rest of the way. A cloud of  
black powder blasted up out of the drawer.

“Ah, nuts, almost got you again!” Harley said.

“Yes, yes,” Joker said, digging through the drawer. “gun powder in the face. Classic. Now  
where... ah, here we are.” He pulled out and wiped the black powder from a long, fancy looking silver  
gift box. “Here you go, Harles.” he said, handing her the present.

“What is it, boss?” she asked.

“Just a token of my appreciation. A little something to show you how I really feel.”  
With an arch of her eyebrow, Harley took the gift. She opened up the box with trembling  
fingers.

“Mistah J.!” Harley gasped.

The box landed on the floor among the shattered pieces of the chair and Harley was left holding  
a rose with alternating black and red petals. A radiant smile stretched from ear to ear as she wrapped  
her arms around The Joker as tight as she could. She bent her knees, lifting her feet off the ground.

“Oh, puddin’, I love it!” she beamed. “‘Ditch the clown’ they said. ‘He only cares about  
himself’ they said. ‘If you stay with him you’re gonna wind up in a shallow, unmarked grave with a  
bullet in your pretty little face’ they said. Ha. Shows how much they know!”

“That is so like them.” Joker said, prying Harley’s vice-like grip from around his neck.  
“Anyway, I had our good friend Ivy whip it up specially for you. It’s called The Harlequin Rose and it’s  
the only one of its kind.”

“It’s beautiful. I’m the luckiest girl in the whole wide world!”

“And that’s not even the best part. It gives off the scent of cinnamon and lavender. Go on,  
snookums, take a whiff.”

Harley put the flower to her nose and breathed in the sweet smell.

“Mmm. It smells so––” Her sentence was cut short by a puff of green smoke blasting her in the  
face from the flower’s stamen. “Mistah J., what...” her words were slurring together and she began to  
sway back and forth.

“It also has a remarkable self preservation mechanism,” The Clown Prince said. “when agitated,  
it emits a rather potent tranquilizer.”

“Mistah J.––” Harley’s voice was dripping with an intense but subdued terror. She fell forward  
into the outstretched arms of The Joker.

“Now, now, sweety, don’t be frightened.” Joker said, stroking Harley’s jester hat. “you’re just  
going to sleep for a few days. You’ll wake up refreshed and feeling like you have a new lease on life... I  
think. Haven’t actually had a chance to test it yet. Oh well, no time like the present. Say night night,  
Harles.”

“Night night, Harles.” she repeated, sleepily.

Harley let out a roar of a snore. The Joker let go of her and she dropped to the floor in a deep,  
deep sleep.

“Oh, henchmen!” The Joker called out his office door.

A lone henchman crept apprehensively into the room.

“Yes, boss?” the muscled said.

“Harley had to go nappy-pooh. Take her to her room and tuck her in, will you?”

“Oh, yeah, boss, I can do that.”

The henchman hoisted Harley’s unconscious body up onto his shoulder and made to take her  
from the office.

“Before I forget,” The Joker said. “There is just one more, teensy weensy little thing.”

The henchman turned to face his master. “Yeah, boss?”

“You see,” The Joker said, reaching into the front of his jacket and pulling out his pistol. “I  
don’t seem to remember giving you goons permission to speak.”

“No, boss, wait I was just––”

BLAM!

The Henchman’s brains splattered against the walls as he and Harley toppled to the ground with  
two heavy thuds.

“Clean up, aisle J!” The Clown Prince screamed out the opened office door. “and make sure you  
bring a mop, it looks like somebody busted their melon. Ha ha ha!”

The Joker fell to the floor, clutching his belly as a cacophonous flood of laughter poured from  
the gaping smile that overtook his face every time he pulled one over on someone.

“Oh, there really is no place like home.”


End file.
